


Amends

by deianaera



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: BDSM, F/M, Flogging
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-20
Updated: 2014-12-20
Packaged: 2018-12-25 11:37:22
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,985
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12035070
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/deianaera/pseuds/deianaera
Summary: Usually, it was Severus who sought out Minerva to seek atonement at her hands. Tonight, it was Minerva asking to make amends.





	Amends

**Author's Note:**

> Originally written for daily_deviant's Kinky Kristmas 2014 for kelly_chambliss. 
> 
> Standard disclaimer: if you recognize it, I don't own it. 
> 
> Enjoy.

When Minerva launched herself at him during the Battle, he felt something within him break. Granted, he hadn’t sought her out since he killed Dumbledore, but she knew him better than everyone, even if he’d spent the anniversary of Lily’s death atop the Astronomy Tower instead of at her terrible mercy. Still, it hurt to see the light of true malice in her eye directed at him. He evaded her strikes and went to answer the Dark Lord’s summons.

Well, everyone knew how that ended.

He’d spent months recovering after the battle. Having your throat all but torn out would do that. He’d heard from most of his old colleagues. They sent apologies of varying sincerity. He struggled to accept them. Their hatred left him rawer than any wound. Minerva? She sent him a job offer. For his old job.

He sent back a Howler filled with a Banshee’s scream.

So, when Boxing Day night came around, he was shocked to find Minerva on his doorstep.

“Severus,” she said softly.

He shivered; it must be the chill. Still, he stood there, with the door open and talked to her. “Don’t you have a school to run?”

“Severus, I need…I need to atone,” she whispered.

The words sent a shock through him and, unthinking, he stepped aside and allowed her in. She walked inside his house, clutching her robe. Her entire bearing was…hurt, he decided. She wasn’t supposed to be hurt. Minerva McGonagall was the epitome of the Scottish Witch: she was weaned on Scotch, could out-fly, out-duel, and out-hex any Wizard who ever walked, and would bleed to death before she shed a tear. Five stunners to the chest didn’t leave her looking as wounded as she did right now.

When she reached for one of the pillows from his sofa, intending to use it as a kneeling pad, he stopped her, grabbing her wrist, her too fragile wrist.

“Minerva, why are you here?”

She glared at him; ah, there was the temper he respected. “I’m here because I need to atone. To you.”

“For what?” he asked, suspicious. He knew why he thought she needed to atone, but he wanted to hear the words.

“Because I didn’t trust you. I knew how much you regretted joining the Death Eaters. Every year, when you came to me to atone for your part in Lily’s death…” She shook her head, then continued. “I knew that if you killed Albus, it wasn’t because you were a loyal Death Eater. And I hated you anyway. I fought you at every turn during the last year. I tried to kill you. I was furious because I didn’t kill you myself. And now, now I’m sorry. Truly sorry. I’d like to make amends.”

The raw hole in his heart was quiet for the first time in months. If he could offer up his sorrow, his pain to her for atonement, he could do no less for her. He let her have the pillow. She took it and sank to her knees upon it in the middle of his living room.

Slowly, he climbed the stairs to his room. He’d never been in this position with her before. She wielded the whip, not he. But, oh, he’d be lying if he didn’t acknowledge that he had spent a pleasant hour or twelve thinking about a moment just like this. In his room, he walked straight to the closet and opened it. He removed a white case from the top shelf and set it on the bed. With his eyes closed he flicked the locks open with his long fingers. The heavy ‘pop’ of the clasps settled in his belly, making his pulse quicken. He carefully opened the case and removed its contents, a heavy black leather flogger with a weighted hilt. 

Removing his precious flogger from the case, he let the buttery soft leather caress his hand and arm. Then, viper quick, he struck, sending the leather lashing against his thinly clothed arm. The stinging pain radiated warmth through his body and he shuddered with arousal. 

He closed the case and, carrying the flogger loosely in his hand, returned downstairs.

He found Minerva where he left her, kneeling on a sofa cushion in the middle of his living room. Her eyes were closed and he could clearly see the bruises from sleepless nights on her face. He paused at the threshold and spoke, low and commanding, just as she taught him when he was a fledgling teacher.

“Minerva. The cross.

“Now.”

She started, swaying on her knees. Slowly, she stood, the popping of her joints audible to him from across the room. She, she didn’t even grimace in discomfort, simply drew her wand from her sleeve and transformed the sofa into a large, heavy X-shaped structure, with supporting struts affixed to the floor. From the top branches of the X hung heavy straps with buckles and at the base, a similar larger set.

Severus stepped into the room and, ignoring Minerva, examined the structure. Up close, he could see the fine grain of the wood, quite unlike the pattern of the upholstery; whatever may have passed, Minerva was still a mistress of her art. Satisfied at her creation of a sturdy Saint Andrew’s Cross, he turned his attention to her.

“Strip.”

Minerva did so, without hesitation. She slid the heavy winter robe from her shoulders, letting it pool at her feet. Beneath, she wore only a plain white shift. The thin fabric did not hide the pebbled brown nipples of her small breasts or the thick, greying bush of hair covering her pubic mound. She shimmied out of the shift, revealing the surprisingly firm flesh beneath. Her small breasts, barely enough to palm, had little enough weight to sag and being childless and disciplined had kept her belly firm. The signs of her neglect still showed, in prominent ribs and knobby knees. She was thin, too thin for his tastes, but he hoped this would be what she needed to recover a healthy weight.

“Mount the cross.”

Silently, she did, stepping up to the heavy wood and pressing her naked flesh against it. The cross pressed against her sternum, leaving her breasts exposed in the vee of the upper branch and her vagina in the lower vee. She reached her arms upward and grasped the straps but did not slip her wrists into them. With a soft exhalation, she relaxed against the cross, the heavy frame supporting her firmly.

“Ready?” he asked.

“Yes,” she whispered.

He steps back away from her and the cross, giving himself room to swing freely. A few test swings of the flogger against his flank, assured him of its balance and its strike. Then, he began.

Lightly, at first, he struck. The first stroke landed on her left shoulder and elicited a gasp from both of them. The sound of leather on flesh was deeply arousing and he shifted to accommodate his growing arousal. He repeated the pattern, this time on her right shoulder. Then, her left hip and her right. He repeated the pattern again with more force, left, right, shoulder, hip. Again, stronger still, left, right, shoulder, hip. Soon, he worked himself up to full force strokes, working steadily in the same pattern, over and over again, the thudding leather making them both cry out.

Severus ignored the fatigue in his arm, focused only on their need; he needed to heal and she needed to suffer for hurting him. Over and over again, he focused on placing each stroke to elicit a cry from her, a physical release of both of their pain. He even switched to his other hand for a series of stroke, to give his dominant arm a brief rest. He could hear her gasping at each blow, but she hadn’t broken from the flogging yet. He switched back to his dominant hand and continued: left, right, shoulder, hip.

When he caught her tensing for the next blow, he switched the pattern, focusing on her slender hips and small bottom. She began to cry in full force at each stroke and the leather begins to raise deep bruises on her pale flesh. The bluish tint against the milky white as she cried in earnest was too much. He cast aside the flogger and opened his robes, pressing against her tender skin. He slips one long-fingered hand between her legs, threading his way through her tangled bush to the slick flesh hidden underneath. He found her hard clit and pressed it, hard. She rubbed herself frantically against his unyielding finger.

“Oh, yes,” she sobbed.

“Say it,” he hissed in her ear.

“I’m sorry, I’m so, so sorry, Severus. I should have trusted you, I should have known you were not what you seemed. I should have apologized as soon as the battle was over, I should have never let you suffer so long, I’m sorry!” she finished on a scream. Her first orgasm ripped through her flesh and she cried in earnest.

Gently, he lowered her down from the cross and onto her back on the floor. She opened her legs and he thrust into her. He groaned and she arched against him. He began to fuck her like he had beaten her, slow, steady, and rhythmic. It had been a long time for both of them and he wanted this to last. 

She was slick and tight and hungry, her hips rising to meet each thrust. He picked up speed, grabbing her hips, wrapping his fingers around the hot, hurting flesh. She let out a strangled groan, a mingling cry of pain and pleasure and he began to thrust harder. He needed this, to take from her until he didn’t hurt anymore, until she wore his pain on her skin.

“More!” she demanded, driving her hips to meet his every thrust. He obliged and let go, a mad, erratic, heedless rush. It didn’t take long for him to feel his sac tighten and he came with a roar, all of the pain and sorrow and hate he’d held onto released in a rush.

Minerva followed, two fingers slipping inside of her to finish when he slid out of her. She came with a sob, tears leaking from her eyes. He reached for her and, there on the bare floor, the held each other through the afterglow.

When they felt the chill of the air on their bare skin, they carefully rose, aware of age and aches and pains. He arose first and made his way into his bathroom, where he kept a salve for occasions like this; though it had not been used in two years, he knew it was still good. 

He returned to Minerva and had her roll over on her belly. With care, he rubbed the healing salve into her skin. It would not heal her completely, but it would prevent all but the most minor inconvenience from tonight’s events. She signed as he tenderly massages it into her shoulders, back, hips and buttocks. When he was done, she arose and dressed, shimmying back into her shift and fastening her robe. Once more, she was the thin, harried Headmistress. 

With a wave of her wand, she returned his sofa to him and he picked up the cushion she knelt upon back to it. She sheathed her wand and looked at the door, then back at him. Licking her lips, she said, “I…thank you, Severus.”

“You’re welcome, Minerva,” he replied. His heart was whole again; scarred but whole.

“Thank you,” she said again. She hesitated, then added, ”You know, you know you would be welcome back at Hogwarts at any time, Severus.”

“I know. Perhaps I will come by. To visit,” he added hastily.

“Of course. Perhaps I will see you at the end of the year?”

“Perhaps you will,” Severus replied with a rare smile.


End file.
